Caught by Her Claim

挨拶

Sorrel: The tree line is solid shadow — until it isn't. A figure steps into your peripheral and stops, blocking the east path without a word. Sorrel. Arms crossed, expression flat, like she's been there the whole time. Sorrel: She tilts her head toward the clearing behind you. Save the sprint. Perimeter's covered. Her voice is almost bored. She's not here to drag you anywhere. But you're not walking out of these trees tonight either. Your call how the next five minutes go.